


Problem Solving

by orphan_account



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Prison Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perceptor can't figure out how Brainstorm's Time Machine works and ends up visiting the brig for a second opinion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Problem Solving

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for [Gunthatshootsennui ](http://gunthatshootsennui.tumblr.com/)  
> Prompt: Hmmm. I was thinking something where Perceptor realizes he's in love with Brainstorm and is kind of in awe of Brainstorm's genius and nervous. Maybe he talks to CD & Nauts and they're like GO FOR IT, NERD. So blah blah blah stuff happens... And leads to interfacing + fluff? Perceptor worshipfully making love to Brainstorm... b-) Ends with very happy Brainstorm who finally feels loved. <3

 

Perceptor preferred solving equations over socialising. Numbers provided more intelligent conversation than many of the half-wits aboard the Lost Light. It wasn’t that he intended to isolate himself, Perceptor was hardwired to choose puzzles over a people. It was his passion. It didn’t make him lonely. When you’re revered as the smartest of all there comes a general understanding and tolerance that to achieve and maintain such standards of intelligence a fair amount of additional studying takes place. Which was why everybody aboard the ship granted Perceptor his personal space. Well, almost everybody.

            Brainstorm’s constant opposition was an exception. Returning to his laboratory every day with no threat of invasion from his haphazard, self-important neighbour was a strange experience for Perceptor. It was difficult to adjust to. As Perceptor would put his head down and try to study he frequently caught himself staring at the door, expecting, and then nothing would happen. He scolded himself, readjusted and tried to concentrate but the pattern repeated itself.

            Somehow, Brainstorm was managing to distract Perceptor even when he was miles below in the brig. The work he’d left behind was proving to be even more bothersome. The fundamentals of Brainstorm’s Time Machine were picking Perceptor’s brain apart. It was endlessly frustrating. At the time Perceptor had been impressed, this was bold new science and he’d been eager to investigate it. Weeks passed and he was no closer to understanding the intricacies of Brainstorm’s machine and a second opinion wasn’t available.

            Which was disturbing, in a sense, Perceptor seldom called for a second opinion. It was a pleasure to riddle through complicated puzzles. However, it seemed there’d been a change.

            He was in need of help.

            A genius’s help.

            As the admittance was made inside his mind Perceptor realised he was idly staring at the door again. Angrily, he pushed back from the desk, compiled a data pad full of his most recent theories and decided he need a change of scenery to help unclog his thought processes.

            Perceptor was not a fan of Swerve’s bar but he was compelled to visit it. A part of him hoped that in the hustle and bustle he’d find some solace although it was in-between duty shifts, so the room was pleasantly uncrowded and it was easy to get service and _still_ Perceptor was finding it impossible to concentrate. He propped his elbows on the bar, twirled a stylus between his fingers over and over as he singled out the data pad and helplessly stared and stared and wondered - _what had Brainstorm been thinking?!_

Perceptor slapped down the stylus with a sound of exasperation. His second cube of High Grade was already depleted when he reached for it. To compensate his angry craving, Perceptor scrubbed his palms down his tense, weary face and accidentally rubbed a finger smear across his reticle. It was such a silly thing to do and it made Perceptor’s mood even worse.

            “Brainstorm?”

            The name produced unfounded alarm. Perceptor jolted up, fearing it was a trick of his imagination.

            “That’s right we’re talking about you.”

            Nautica was speaking at him from a table she shared with Chromdome.

            “What did you say?” Perceptor was frowning, he took his data pad into hand and decided that if he didn’t like the way the impending conversation was heading then he’d leave.

            “We’re trying to guess what’s on your mind.”

            Indignity bit Perceptor and he scoffed hard.

            “And on your first attempt you suggest _Brainstorm?!_ ”

            “Who said it was our first attempt? It was just the attempt you reacted to.”

            Perceptor flounced, wishing he was back at his lab, somewhere that was comfortable and logical and he wouldn’t be ridiculed by Chromedome's sharp wit.

            “There’s nothing bothering me.” But sounding defensive only acted as encouragement.

            “Sure there is. For as long as I’ve been aboard the Lost Light you have _never_ visited the bar without being ordered to. Now you’re here on your own accord - something must have changed.”

            Perceptor was stuffy and petulant. Chromedome was right and it aggrieved Perceptor that they knew too much already.

            “Come join us.” Nautica had friendly mannerisms, she kicked out an extra chair at their table to sweeten the offer seeing as Chromedome’s detective analysis of Perceptor’s motives appeared to have been received badly.

            Despite his prearranged escape plan, Perceptor stomped over to the table and deposited his work.

            “I can’t figure out how he did it!” Perceptor wished he could blame sudden need to share on the High Grade but after it had been revealed Swerve was watering down the booze then Perceptor didn’t have excuse. Yet somehow he felt drained and vulnerable to their questions.

            “Who did what?”

            “Brainstorm, the Time Machine.”

            “I knew it.”

            Nautica hushed Chromedome and encouraged Perceptor to continue.

            Thumbing through his notes, Perceptor directed his evidence at Nautica. Her background in quantum mechanics inferred she’d have the best chance of understanding what he’d written, and therefore would be more like to empathise with Perceptor’s predicament.

            “I swear it should not have worked. You see this,” Perceptor prodded his finger over an intricate sequence of algorithms that made his company frown. “Do you know what this means?”

            “No.” Chromedome responded. Perceptor’s face flushed and he cawed

            “It means it shouldn’t have worked! I have tried everything! _Everything!_ Run every diagnostic, simulation and I am telling you - that Time Machine should not have been able to generate a single inter-temporal rift, let alone several!”

            “And yet somehow, it did!”

            “You used the Time Machine, Perceptor.” Nautica pushed an energon cube into Chromedome’s hands for appeasing purposes. “You understood how it worked just fine then. Didn’t you?”

            “Yes, but I cannot duplicate it!”

            “You’re trying to build another Time Machine? Wasn’t one near temporal disaster enough?”

            Perceptor recoiled from Chromedome’s question, drumming his fingers on the table.

            “If Brainstorm can do it, why can’t I?” Was what it boiled down to. Nautica and Chromedome shared a knowing look. They knew that, when they asked Perceptor why he hadn’t visited Brainstorm to ask for a solution, it was more than Perceptor’s pride that forbid him from making the journey.

            The thought of visiting his colleague in a dire place was unsettling. If Perceptor couldn’t riddle out a Time Machine how could he solve emotional problems, which he knew to be significantly more complicated to understand?

            “What’s the alternative, sitting in the bar avoiding the problem?” Chromedome leaned in, “Come on Perceptor, they guy can be a gear stick but he admired you immensely. Even if it’s not to solve the problem you should still pay him a visit.”

            Perceptor’s control faltered.

            “But I - I wouldn’t know what to say. I do not agree with what he was attempting to do. If I visited the brig, I’d be going to reprimand him.”

            “But can’t you agree that he did what he did with the best intentions?”

            “Absolutely not!” Perceptor shunned Nautica’s claim by turning up his nose. “There is never a good reason to jeopardise space time.”

            “And yet here you are failing at building a Time Machine that could do the same thing…” The glass of Chromedome’s optics flashed.

            “We’re giving you a solution and an excuse to see Brainstorm,” which in Chromedome’s opinion, was blatantly the issue at the foundation of this conversation,

            “He won’t want to talk to me. I find it difficult to believe he’d want to talk to anyone.”

            “Are you kidding, out of everyone on this ship he’d find it easiest talk to you, after all you nerds all speak the same language.” Chromedome drummed on the data pad.

            “Maybe it isn’t the talking that’s important. If you go down there with some work for him to do I’m sure Brainstorm would be thrilled to have a little distraction.”

            Nautica was right and in a split second Perceptor made up his mind: he was going to visit Brainstorm. But to save face, he idled his heels at the table a little longer and let Chromedome and Nautica believe he required more convincing.

            They congratulated him on a well made decision as he left.

            Perceptor carried his research down to the brig, skim reading it as he walked in search of any silly errors Brainstorm would definitely spot and use to embarrass him.

            A guard took Perceptor inside the brig and warned Perceptor not to pass anything through the bars.

            “The mech’s got clever hands,” said the guard, meaning Brainstorm could make something out of anything, such as a lock pick out of a data pad.

            Perceptor nodded, letting an eerie silence come between them as they paced the gangway. The silence clung to his plating, pressing against Perceptor’s EM fields.

            The Lost Light’s stock of Decepticon’s had depleted when they returned to Cybertron. The brig had been emptied entirely except for one cell. Perceptor spotted the purple hue glowing from a distant collection of bars. A lagging sensation overcame him and something unusual pulled on his tanks. As Perceptor anticipated the conversation to come, the uncomfortable tugging got stronger and his nerve started to unravel.

            The span of Brainstorm’s wings covered most of his body, they twitched when the guard announced he had a visitor but Brainstorm didn’t make an effort to acknowledge his impromptu company.

            Perceptor wasn’t expecting any kind of welcome. Given the circumstances, he shouldn’t be surprised if Brainstorm didn’t immediately reject him. Finding the mech looking so deject was something Perceptor hadn’t even considered. Without the bravado to bolster a personality worthy of an over-inflated ego, Brainstorm was nearly unrecognisable.

            A sense of duty settled on Perceptor, he didn’t know why. Maybe it was seeing his fellow scientist, who’d achieved the incredible, look so defeated despite his accomplishments.

            Perceptor asked the guard to deactivate the barrier surrounding the cell bars and for him to give them some privacy.

            With a dubious optic tracing over Perceptor’s body searching for deviant signs, the hulking guard reminded Perceptor not to pass _anything_ through the bars. 

            Perceptor waved him off.

            “Yes, yes.” He was looking intensely at Brainstorm, waiting for him to turn so that they might start examining the purpose of Perceptor’s visit together.

            The guard did as he was asked and eventually trudged away, casting hesitant glances backward, afraid he’d see Perceptor’s data pad slip between the bars. Eventually the exit was upon him and the guard had to leave.

            “Brainstorm.”

            If there was a security system the guard would surely be observing them through that.

            “Brainstorm?!” Perceptor hissed, his voice sounding louder as it echoed off the walls.

            Brainstorm shifted, his helm was tipped toward a shadowy corner.

            “What do you want?” He mumbled, it sounded a lot like sulking. As his neck moved, the stripes of light cast from neon tube on the ceiling defined the edges of his lips. Brainstorm wasn’t wearing his mask. It had been taken from him along with a few other basic, inbuilt necessities that had been deactivated upon his arrival into the cell.

            Perceptor had never seen Brainstorm without his mask, not even when they…

            Brainstorm interrupted Perceptor’s vacant ogling by clearing his throat.

            “You’re staring, Perceptor.”

            He could hardly be blamed for his curiosity, but Brainstorm’s sudden engagement had Perceptor in need of recovering his thoughts. He avoided the piercing eye contact and coughed into his hand.

            “I didn’t think you had a mouth under your mask.”

            “How rude of you to assume.”

            Perceptor was susceptible to the comment. It was devoid of mirth, Brainstorm’s bitterness was wounding.

            “Lots of mechs don’t have mouths under their masks. In fact, three out of ten”-

            “I don’t care!” Brainstorm raised his voice, “Why have you come down here Perceptor, it’s obviously not for a chit-chat. I know you better than that. What do you want?”

            While Perceptor was starting to feel like he didn’t know Brainstorm at all. Or at least, not this version of him. Perceptor was used to having his patience tried by crude shenanigans, to be the cause of such frustration was baffling to him.

            “Okay.” He fiddled with the data pad, turned it on and lifted it to the cell for Brainstorm to inspect, holding it steady, or trying to. There was a nearly imperceptible quiver in his hand that caused the data pad to vibrate at 0.0028 squared metres per second.

            “What’s that?” Brainstorm squinted.

            “It’s your Time Machine.” Perceptor glanced at the exit and took a measured step back, making it perfectly obvious to the guard, who may or may not have been watching, that he had no intention of passing the data pad through the bars.

            “What are you interested in that for?” Perceptor saw Brainstorm chew his round bottom lip and subconsciously mimicked the gesture. He felt a shred of his self-esteem, dangling by a thread, get torn away when he admitted,

            “I can’t understand how it works.”

            Brainstorm’s optics brightened, an expression of familiar novelty returning.

            “What?”

            Regret agitated Perceptor, his vents expelled a groaning sigh.

            “I said, please listen this time, I do not”-

            “Oh I heard that, I’m just struggling to believe it.”

            “So am I,” Perceptor intoned.

            “Well this is… quite something.”

            Perceptor should’ve known gaining an explanation wouldn’t have been plain and easy, it would come garnished with Brainstorm’s superiority. However, dealing with familiar immodesty was preferable to the dismissive, irritable character Perceptor had initially been confronted with.

            Unarguably, Perceptor’s inability was cheering Brainstorm immeasurably but an underlying responsibility for his invention prompted Brainstorm to say:

            “If you can’t understand it: good.” Perceptor flinched back, “I designed that machine for one purpose only, if it’s not going to be used for what I intended then I don’t want it to be used at all. I don’t want to be responsible for endorsing what you or anyone else might do with it.”

            “What do you think I’m going to do with it? _Try to assassinate Megatron?_ What’s the point in building one at all if you’re only going to use it once?”

            Brainstorm sunk back.           

            “Once was all I was going to need.”

            The instinctual reply had a bitter taste so Perceptor attempted to filter it out.

            “All of this to save one person.” The unsounded _who didn’t love you back_ remained clenched in Perceptor’s teeth. There were those aboard the Lost Light who thought Perceptor was incapable of deciphering such deep emotions but they failed to realise that Perceptor experienced them all the same. Although he handled them clumsily as he did now. Brainstorm snapped up and glared.

            “I didn’t even save him!” The emotional knot clawing up Brainstorm’s throat ensnared Perceptor also, “I-I failed”-

            “No, you did not!” Perceptor’s lips moved ahead of his verbal filter. His previous promise of a reprimand buried under high praise. Brainstorm was in awe. “This,” Perceptor waved the data pad, “Is the most complex, beautiful science I’ve seen. Brainstorm, what you invented was revolutionary and I will not hear you slander your accomplishments and - and,” Perceptor was becoming particularly excitable, flapping his hands, “You should be proud b-because I do not have a clue how you did it!” His vents were billowing hard and Brainstorm appeared pleased though his optics were still deep and sad. “You didn’t fail.”

            “But I didn’t accomplish what I’d built my _whole_ life around! The Time Machine doesn’t matter. I was stupid to think I could use it to bring back the things that do.”

            Making a frustrated sound Perceptor threw his helm back.           

            “What can I say yo make you believe me?!”

            “Nothing.”

            “Brainstorm?!”

            “Say I’m the better scientist.” It was an old cliche, Brainstorm wasn’t serious but the response he received was seriously unexpected.

            “Fine! In this case, you _are_ the better scientist. What else I can say?”

            Brainstorm rose to his feet, pacing across the cell with fluid movement.

            “Don’t say anything yet.” His voice was husky, Brainstorm had confronted Perceptor at the bars, cupped Perceptor’s face and implored him steadily closer. Perceptor was too overwhelmed to resist. His cheeks touched the bars and he flinched, anticipating a jolt of energy but it was electricity in Brainstorm’s firm kiss that made Perceptor’s lips buzz.

            “Say it again.” Came a whisper.

            Percepetor swallowed, licking at his dry lips.

            “Y-you’re the better scientist.” The stuttering earned him another suckling kiss. Brainstorm’s teeth dragged on Perceptor’s lips and encouraged their bodies closer until the bars were squeezed between them.

            “Brainstorm. The guard”- The last rational thread in Perceptor’s processor implored him to think before he acted, but so far he’d already dropped the data pad and Perceptor’s hands were hooked over Brainstorm’s wings inside the cell.

            “What is it with you microscopes? Why are you always so timid?”

            The nerve of the accusation had Perceptor growling against Brainstorm’s mouth, forcing himself against the cold, unyielding bars. They tangled together and, joined, slid down to the floor. Science could wait. If the guard was to catch them, despite Brainstorm’s lack of concern, there would be consequence and the fear of being caught made them act with urgency.

            Perceptor twisted onto his hands and knees, open and keen. Brainstorm shoved his hands through the bars and grabbed at Perceptor’s hips, finger tips marking Perceptor’s paint as they struggled to overcome the rigid obstacles dividing them.

            Brainstorm dragged Perceptor’s aft back and thrust at him, the sounds of metal rung in their audios.

            Perceptor gasped and gnashed his teeth. Each time he rocked back Brainstorm’s spike moved in him, but shallowly. Enough to make him irritable and needy, not enough, never enough to satisfy.

            “Can’t you get any closer?” Looking back into the cell, under his hot, heavy gasps the glass of his reticle steamed over. Brainstorm chuffed, attempting to compensate. He shifted his knees wider across the floor, Perceptor listened to the painful scrape of metal and braced himself on his knuckles. When Brainstorm thrust forward Perceptor was anticipating a greater result. The spike pushed over a few extra ridges inside him, teasing the internal traction so that the tingles of desperation crawled deeper again and the empty depths of Perceptor’s valve made an achy spasm.

            “Brainstorm.” He churned out the word, canting his hips higher, nuzzling his face alongside his hands on the floor where dust and dirt got stuck on his damp lips.

            The bars shook under the force of Brainstorm’s speedy movements, jabbing his spike over and over again into the beginning of Perceptor’s valve. Eventually he took his girth in hand and rubbed the tip across what he could reach. Perceptor whined, and Brainstorm was gratified to see the irrepressible tremors of lust make Perceptor’s knees quake.

            “This isn’t working,” he muttered and sounded frustrated because forcibly dividing himself from the rest of the tantalising warmth inside Perceptor was torturous. He longed to sink in fully, bury himself, and then release.

            “No.” Perceptor quailed, heaving his aft higher, beckoning Brainstorm to try again. Get inside him, frag him, and make this dreadful craving go away.

            Fingers poked through the bars instead. Brainstorm examined Perceptor’s valve with slow and deliberate intrigue, teasing the rim, watching Perceptor twitch weakly before giving him his middle and first finger to clench around.

            They stroked blessedly deeper than the spike. Though it did not test his limits Perceptor was aching and mewling in delight. To be touched so deeply felt good. Heat and arousal pulsed in his groin. He felt _so_ good.

            Brainstorm pressed down prompting an ooze of lubricant to trickle between his knuckles and paint the bars squashed under Perceptor's aft. Each stroke coaxed out another quiet whimper, Perceptor moved naturally, hardly flinching at first but, as Brainstorm introduced him to a third finger, Perceptor began grinding back. Inside him, though extremely lubricated, became harder to pleasure. Perceptor was getting tight. Brainstorm’s idled his fingers, inviting Perceptor to frag himself. The supple gears inside clung to Brainstorm’s fingers, every stroke of his lips spilling another gush of lubricant that meandered down Perceptor’s legs. The sounds of metal got louder, more erratic. A high desperate caw unintentionally escaped Perceptor and his stilled, aft poked up, knees quivering, then he sighed.

            Brainstorm was bound by curiosity.

            “Did you just overload?”

            Perceptor twisted his head back, mouth agape and panting hard. That was his answer. To add to it, more lubricant slid out of the valve twitching weakly round Brainstorm’s fingers. It was an edible sight. So delicious that Brainstorm eased down to have a taste.

            As the hot, sticky fingers slipped free, Perceptor hissed and tried to smother his moans by biting his knuckles, His aft was as flat against the bars as he could make it when Brainstorm stretched out his tongue and teased at his soft outer node, making lewd sounds in between puffs of frustration.

            “It’s not… It’s no good. Can’t reach.” Brainstorm drew back, aft resting on his ankles and licked the majority of Perceptor’s lubricant off his lips.

            The growing space between them made Perceptor’s valve shudder. He jerked away from the bars, turning suddenly, dismayed to see Brainstorm had retreated.

            “Think your way round the problem.” He muttered, curling on himself and crawling forward. Brainstorm didn’t hear.

            “What?”

            “Come closer.” Perceptor looked up sharply. Eyes sinfully needy, “Get up. Stand up.”

            Brainstorm wasn’t opposed to being bossed around. His legs were wobbly as he pushed upward. Perceptor's hands were seeking the fingers that had been warmed inside him. It felt like pure indulgence when Perceptor took two of Brainstorm’s fingers into his mouth and lapped at them in a sensual action that brought Brainstorm’s charge leaping back to his spike. Perceptor had a taste of himself along with the residual and bitter metal tang absorbed from the cell bars. He stared up, keeping Brainstorm distracted with his tongue, Perceptor had taken him down to the knuckle by the time he’d curled one hand round Brainstorm’s spike.

            A wince made Brainstorm jerk under Perceptor’s attention.

            “Your hands are cold.” He complained. But as seasoned scientists they knew the solution to that problem would be friction.

            As Brainstorm began to pump his spike, Perceptor eased off the fingers with a gasp. Oral fluid dangled from his chin and his bottom lip glistened. A look of heady desire filled his face, the intensity in his optics made Brainstorm weak before Perceptor wrapped his lips round his spike.

            “Yes!” Brainstorm stuttered, rolling his head back but canting his hips forward, spike poking between the bars and Perceptor’s mouth took him further than his valve could.

            When fingers came to back of Perceptor’s neck it was comforting. They fiddled with tense cables and guided him with minimal pressure and ease. Perceptor’s valve twitched, his head was filled with the musk of Brainstorm’s girth, teal plating and the desire to do well.

            “Why do you have to be so damn good at everything?!” Brainstorm muttered reverently to the ceiling, guiding his spike in and out of Perceptor’s mouth, the restriction of the bars keeping the leaky head comfortably away from Perceptor’s intake but a portion was left sadly exposed. To compensate, Perceptor took the remainder of Brainstorm’s spike in hand and worked over it in conjunction to his oral pampering at the head of Brainstorm’s spike, sliding his hot glossa over the tip’s utmost sensitivity.

            Brainstorm cawed, bucking forward. Perceptor sucked hard, feeling an odd hotness pool on his tongue as Brainstorm’s spike discharged its first evidence of the approaching overload.

            It garnered a sense of achievement.

            “Primus!” Brainstorm’s arousal had swollen larger as he devoured the sight of Perceptor drooling over his spike. In his excitement, Perceptor’s oral fluid was spreading all over the place as he twisted his fist round Brainstorm’s spike.

            “You have to swallow.” Brainstorm gasped, hand curling across the back of Perceptor’s helm in case he immediately attempted to pull back. He didn’t have anything they could use for cleaning should he spurt across Perceptor’s chin.

            Hot fluid filled his mouth quickly, Perceptor’s optics dimmed with delirium as he felt the transfluid wash over his tongue. It was thick and went down into his systems in two heavy gulps that tantalised the renewed sensitivity of Brainstorm’s spike all the more.

            “Primus!” Brainstorm gasped again, his knees quivered making him depended on the bars’ support, “Well… I might be the better scientist but y-you’re definitely are an expert at that.”

            Perceptor settled back onto his stiff haunches and flexed his aching jaw. He was wet. Slimy lubricant was slowly drying on his thighs.

            Brainstorm stared down the long distance between them, licking his lips.

            “Come here.” A hand stretched through the barrier and helped Perceptor up, pulling him closer in the process and he was squeezed in Brainstorm’s arms. After a moment, Perceptor felt Brainstorm shaking.     

            “It’s okay,” he whispered, wishing he could cut through the bars to reassure Brainstorm all the more.

            A moment that felt longer than normal passed too quickly, their quiet comforting was interrupted unduly when the guard heaved open the door at the far end of the brig. Naturally, they pulled apart, Perceptor’s chest heaved as he struggled to think of something relevant to say other than goodbye. Despite his silence, Brainstorm understood the struggle Perceptor faced, but as Perceptor moved to collect his neglected data pad Brainstorm blurted out suddenly.

            “The Time Machine.”

            “What about it?” Although Perceptor was no closer to finding a solution it wasn’t imposing on his priorities anymore.

            “Promise to come see me again and I’ll tell you about it.

            Brainstorm optics were bright, hopeful. Perceptor smiled.

            “Of course.”

                    

                       

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like a commission info is [ here](http://bammshee.tumblr.com/post/115560127919/bammshee-bammshee-hi-okay-so-originally-this#notes) If you don't want a commission could you please reblog that post anyway #Advertising :p
> 
> 50% of the profit goes to the Big Issue charity 50% goes toward my Auto Assembly ticket :D


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